


The Ransom of Bunter

by teachair (halavana1)



Series: Wimsey between stories fanfics [3]
Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halavana1/pseuds/teachair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bunter has an unusual evening off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ransom of Bunter

The phone rang. It rang again. And again. It rang seven times before Lord Peter remembered Bunter was off duty for the evening.  
“Oh bother,” he muttered, put down his book and snatched up the receiver. “Yes?” he inquired shortly.  
“If you want to see your man Bunter ever again, wait for our call at eight pm.” The call ended with an abrupt click.  
“What was that?” asked Parker over the fold of a newspaper.  
“Someone’s kidnapped Bunter,” replied Lord Peter with a quizzical look at his brother-in-law.  
Parker’s paper dropped from his hands. “What?” He rose from the armchair. “Kidnapped?!” He stepped closer to Lord Peter. “Bunter?”  
“Yes. Some poor, misguided fools have kidnapped Bunter. Mercy on their souls.”  
“Mercy on THEIR souls?! What of Bunter? What did they say?”  
“We must remember, old Parker-bird, Bunter has been my partner in many adventures. He’s a trained old soldier and intelligence operative in his own right, deacon though he may appear. My NCO during the war and a good one. Remember a batman’s duties include that of bodyguard during combat, of which we saw plenty. I never feared what may be goin’ on behind me, because he was there pickin’ off snipers. Doesn’t like guns, but is a dead shot with one all the same. He dirties his hands so I don’t have to. I don’t protect him, though I certainly would if I could; he protects me! He is my first and last line of defense and will not see his kidnapping as an attack on himself, but as misguided vengeance against me. Pity those poor fools. Calm yourself, man. They’ll call in an hour. We’ve but to wait until then…”

The phone rang piercingly at the appointed time. The voice said, “Bring an attache case with £100,000 to the warehouse at Queenhithe…”  
Noise of a scuffle distracted both speaker and listener. The receiver clunked on a hard surface, steps hasted away, a door slammed, a lock clicked, steps returned and the receiver was lifted. “Bring the money to…” Something struck the door in the background.  
“I say, old chap,” began Lord Peter. “Why don’t you put my man Bunter on and I’ll negotiate your safety.” Something crashed against the door. “What do you say to that?”  
A rhythmic pounding distracted the speaker until a crash and bang took its place.  
“He wants to speak to you,” the voice said at some distance.  
“Does he?” growled Bunter’s voice, then in a normal tone he said into the phone, “My lord?”  
“I say, Bunter. Are you all right?”  
“Bumps, bruises, a few minor contusions, my lord. May I take this time to apologize…”  
“No. You certainly may not.”  
“As you...” The receiver was dropped with a clunk, a brief scuffle ensued ending with a shot fired, and the sound of a punch landing with force. The receiver clunked again and Bunter’s voice finished the thought “… wish, my lord.”  
“Are you at Queenhithe?”  
“Yes my lord, to the best I have been able to ascertain.”  
“Very good. We’ll come ‘round and collect you. I say, are you all right?”  
“Very good my lord. And yes, my lord, I’m quite all right. The shot your lordship heard was a misfire.” The line clicked and the call ended.  
“I say, Peter…”  
“Not to worry, not to worry. Let’s roll around to Queenhithe and see what Bunter hath wrought.”  
On the way, in response to Parker’s concerns, Lord Peter laughed. “How much have you read of the writings of the American writer, Mark Twain?”  
“Oh, Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn… Don’t remember much more.”  
“Ever read ‘The Ransom of Red Chief’?”  
“Can’t say as I have.”  
“Read it when you can. That story expresses perfectly what any kidnapper is in for who dares snatch my Bunter.”  
They arrived at the appointed warehouse, found the door unlocked and cautiously looked in. Seated in an office swivel chair, legs crossed, elbows propped on armrests, fingers steepled before his nose, Bunter glared at three men bound on the floor. His wrists were chaffed raw from having worked himself free of the rope which now bound his adversaries. He had a cut on his lip that was becoming puffy and a red, swelling and blackening eye. His dress shirt was ripped at the collar, the cuff links were missing, and his suit coat draped across an arm of the chair was smeared with grease and grime, as were his trousers. At his feet lay three disassembled revolvers. Lord Peter chuckled from just outside the door and Bunter at once rose to his feet, at attention.  
“My lord,” he said, head slightly inclined.  
“So this is what you get up to on your days off,” murmured Lord Peter.  
“I am most gratified your lordship is amused,” said Bunter.  
“Amused? Oh Bunter! My Bunter! I am relieved! Considering what could have been, I am relieved!”  
Parker was on the phone saying, “Scotland Yard? This is Chief Inspector Parker. Send someone ‘round to Queenhithe to collect three would-be kidnappers… Yes, I said would be… no, no, they’r not going anywhere… We’ll wait… Yes, thank you… Yes, we’ll wait.”


End file.
